Page 42 of Can't Stop Watching

This is wrong. Deeply, fundamentally wrong—worse than what I did in her apartment. I'm violating so much more: her trust, her privacy. Everything I claimed to respect minutes ago.

Yet here I sit, a ghost in the darkness, watching her life unfold through crosshairs like the sniper I once was. The irony isn't lost on me.

Maybe an animal is all I've ever been. Maybe the badge and the honorable discharge were just costumes I wore to hide the monster underneath. But monsters don't feel this hollow ache in their chest. They don't hate themselves for what they're doing.

Do they?

"... that's the thing. He stopped..." Lila's voice cuts out again, lost to the ambient noise of the city. I adjust the mic, cursing under my breath. Getting half a conversation is worse than getting none.

"Fuck." I twist the dial, trying to boost the gain without introducing too much static. "Come on, sweetheart, speak up."

Another fragment reaches me: "...like Mr. Colton..." Then silence.

I pound my fist against the concrete floor. Marcus Fucking Colton. The name sends rage coursing through me like battery acid. That piece of shit teacher who got away with everything. And now she's comparing me to him?

Or saying I'm different? I can't fucking tell.

The universe has a sick sense of humor, letting me hear just enough to drive myself insane with speculation. Half-truths are more dangerous than lies—they give you just enough rope to hang yourself with assumptions.

I sit back, rubbing my eyes. This isn't working. Half-assed surveillance never does. If I want to understand Lila—to protect her—I need to be smarter. More thorough.

Tomorrow, I'll plant proper bugs in her apartment. No more amateur hour bullshit with this directional mic.

The thought should bother me. It doesn't.

That's probably the most disturbing thing of all.

LILA

Even after taking some time to calm down, my hands tremble as I dial Tessa's number, pacing around my tiny apartment. The ghost of Dane's touch still burning against my skin.

"Pick up, pick up," I mutter, heart hammering. Three rings feel like three hours.

"Hey girl, how was?—"

"Tessa," I gasp, my voice breaking. "I need you."

"What happened? Are you okay? Did he?—"

"No! Yes! I don't know." Tears prick at my eyes. The apartment suddenly feels too empty yet somehow suffocating. "He was here, and then—God, I can't even think straight."

"Breathe, Lila." Tessa's voice shifts to that calm, take-charge tone she uses for emergencies. Last time I heard it was when I found a mouse in my kitchen and had a complete meltdown.

I sink onto my couch, exhaling shakily. "He came up. We were kissing in the car, and I invited him up because—fuck, Tess, I wanted him so bad."

"Okay, that's?—"

"It was like something from a movie, all desperate and hot and then… he pushed me against the wall," I continue, the words tumbling out. "He got rough. Push me against the wall and put an hand around my throat, and I just—I wasn't in my apartment anymore. I was backthere. Withhim."

"Oh, Lila." Her voice softens. "What did Dane do when you freaked?"

"That's the thing." I stare at my front door, still half-expecting a knock. "He stopped. Immediately. Backed all the way up like I'd burned him." The memory flickers: Dane's face transforming from heat to horror in an instant. "He apologized. Like, really apologized."

"That's... good, right?"

"Is it?" I stand again, unable to stay still. "Or is it just the first step in the manipulation playbook? Like Mr. Colton."

"Oh, Lila." Tessa's voice turns stern. "He's not Mr. Colton. You need to stop comparing them. For starters, you're not a sixteen-year-old student. You're an adult woman who invited him to your place."